LAODICE  AND  DANAE 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    SERIES 

UNIFORM  WITH  THIS  VOLUME 


Laodice  and  Danae  Play  in  Verse 

By  Gordon  Bottomley 

Images — Old  and  New  Poems 

By  Richard  Aldington 

The  English  Tongue  and  Other  Poems 
By  Lewis  Worthington  Smith 

Five  Men  and  Pompey  Dramatic  Portraits 

By  Stephen  Vincent  Benet 

Horizons  Poems 

By  Robert  Alden  Sanborn 

The  Tragedy  A  Fantasy  in  Verse 

By  Gilbert  Moyle 


LAODICE  AND  DANAE 

PLAY  IN  ONE  ACT 


BY 


GORDON  BOTTOMLEY 


Boston 

The  Four  Seas  Company 

1916 


Copyright,  ipi6,  by 
The  Four  Seas  Company 


THE  FOUR  SEAS  PRESS 
BOSTON  AND  NORWOOD 


fRQoo3.a&Tl^'3>JfiC.,M/HAj 


To  B.  J.  FLETCHER 

0  rare  Ben  Fletcher,  oft  I  bless 
Your  rotund  Jacobean  name; 

If  the  great  crew  could  still  express 
Their  hearts  in  their  dim  place  of  Fame, 
As  once  at  Globe  or  Mermaid-ales, 
With  love  your  liking  they  would  greet 
For  country  things  and  queens'  mad  tales 
And  lines  with  sounding  feet. 

But  in  this  troublous  newer  time 
Such  fellows  have  not  filled  your  days. 
So  it  is  left  for  me  to  chime 
These  quieter  verses  of  your  praise: 
For  a  fair  theme  I  need  not  strive 
While  manhood  knows  as  boyhood  knew 
The  joys  of  art,  the  joys  of  life, 

1  have  received  from  you. 

What  days  could  ever  be  so  long 
As  those  our  pristine  Summers  poised 
O'er  a  charmed  valley  isled  among 
Their  bright  slow-breaking  tides  unnoised? 
Then  Dials  were  new  and  came  to  stir 
A  passionate  thirst  within  the  eyes; 


346451 


Each  dawn  was  a  discoverer 
Of  poets  unearthly  wise. 

First-comer  of  my  friends,  the  years 
Behold  much  friendship  fade  and  set; 
The  shrunken  world  imparts  its  fears, 
Most  men  their  early  power  forget. 
But  art  stays  true  for  us,  and  we 
In  it  are  steadfast:  for  a  sign 
Its  wonder  joins  us  changelessly 
Your  name  stands  here  wiih  mine. 


ARGUMENT 

Antiochus  Theos,  one  of  the  Hellenic  Kings  of  the 
East  of  the  line  of  Seleucus,  reigned  in  Antioch.  He 
had  espoused  Laodice  his  kinswoman,  according  to  the 
usage  of  his  race;  but  after  many  years  he  put  her 
from  him,  and  took  to  wife  Berenice,  daughter  and 
sister  of  Ptolemys  of  Egypt,  for  reasons  of  state. 

I^odice  withdrew  to  Ephesus  and  kept  court  there : 
long  affection,  resurgent,  sent  Antiochus  thither  to  join 
her.  Shortly  afterward  he  died  at  Ephesus  in  Laodice's 
care. 

Berenice  and  Laodice  then  warred,  each  to  gain  the 
kingdom  for  her  child :  the  infant  son  of  Berenice  dis- 
appeared, and  eventually  Seleucus  II.,  the  son  of 
Laodice,  held  the  throne  of  Antiochus. 

In  the  course  of  their  wars  Laodice  retired  from 
Ephesus  on  finding  that  Sophron,  the  governor  of  the 
city,  secretly  trafficked  with  the  party  of  Berenice. 
While  she  sat  in  some  adjacent  city  Sophron  unsus- 
piciously rejoined  her  councils;  she  immediately  de- 
vised his  death,  but  he,  being  warned  by  his  old  love 
Danae,  the  queen's  favorite,  saved  himself  by  flight. 

Persons 
Laodice,  a  Queen  of  the  Seleucid  House  in  Asia. 

Danae,  Mysta,  Rhodogune,  Barsine,  and  other 
waiting-women. 

Sophron,  Seleucid  Governor  of  Ephesus. 
In  Smyrna.  B.  C.  246. 


\ 

LAODICE  AND  DANAE 


LAODICE  AND  DANAE 


Behind  the  curtain  a  woman  sings  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  harp  and  a  bell. 

MAIDEN  bom  in  a  dance 
Looking  first  on  the  moon 
Between  camellias 
(Rose  seen  white  in  the  chance), 
Solemn  the  bough-hung  space 
Dim  for  the  white  hurt  mother 
Whose  feet  still  twitched  to  the  tune 
That  gleamed  in  the  throbbing  smother 
Of  light,  the  murmur  of  feet 
And  touching  of  ankle-rings. 
So  strange  and  far  the  heat, 
Compelling  rhythms,  words  lost, 
Vapours  of  odours,  strings 
Of  pearls  that  swung  and  tost 
Under  eyes'  retreat. ... 
The  stars  go  down  in  ones; 
Night  air  lifts  long  leaves 
That  let  a  star  drop  through. 
Shut  on  it  as  dew  runs 

And  the  vanished  light  receives 

The  new-bom  eyes  shut  too .... 
The  curtain  rises 
A  lofty  chamber  of  mingled  Hellenic  and  Asiatic  arch- 
itecture is  seen.     The  walls  are  of  black  stone;  on 

II 


12  Laodice  and  Danae 

the  right  a  portal  toward  the  front  of  the  stage  is 
concealed  by  a  curtain  embroidered  with  parrots 
and  Babylonian  branch-work;  high  and  toward  the 
back  is  a  double  window,  with  open  cedar  lattices, 
of  an  inner  room:  high  in  the  opposed  wall  is  a  short 
arcade  with  a  projecting  gallery.  An  open  colon- 
nade extends  across  the  rear  wall  at  two  thirds  of  its 
height;  its  pillars  support  the  roof:  the  platform  of 
this  colonnade  is  accessible  by  an  open  stair  recessed 
in  the  wall. 
Queen  Laodice  reclines  on  a  great  divan  set  toward 
the  left  centre  of  the  chamber.  The  musicians 
whose  singing  and  playing  have  just  ceased  kneel 
on  a  Persian  carpet  before  her:  between  them  and 
the  portals  stands  a  tall  brazier  whence  a  wavering 
heat  rises.  A  golden  evening  sky  is  visible  through 
the  colonnade,  where  Danae  leans  against  a  pillar. 

Laodice. 

Be  silent  now ;  I  let  you  sing  too  much, 
I  am  awaiting  now  too  many  things 
To  bear  this  fret  of  waiting  till  you  end 
And  I  can  think  again.  Be  quietly  gone. 

The  women  go  out. 

Danae. 

You  bade  them  sing  to  make  one  moment  brief. 

Laodice. 

What  are  you  watching  like  a  larger  cat, 
Sweetheart,  little  heart,  noiseless  and  alert? 
You  shall  not  watch  me  like  a  prim  wise  cat. 


Laodice  and  Danae  13 

Danae. 

I  watch  a  girl  sway  slightly,  near  the  tide, 

As  if  rehearsing  dance-steps  in  her  heart ; 

She  hangs  lit  snakes  of  sea- weed  down  her  bosom; 

She  takes  a  letter  from  her  bunchy  hair .... 

She  laughs  and  leans  over,  holding  the  pillar. 

Laodice. 

Find  me  a  ship,  ships — dark  ones,  strange  ones — 
1  must  have  ships,  so  find  them,  little  heart. 
And,  more  than  all,  a  ship  of  Antioch. 

Danae. 

How  tiny  a  girl  looks  under  these  deep  rocks .... 

Laodice  yawns. 
Madam,  I  have  searched  well ;  yet  until  now 
No  deep-sea  ship  has  passed  the  promontory; 
Now  a  great  ship  with  tawny  sails  comes  on, 
An  ocean-threatening  centaur  for  its  prow. 

Laodice. 

That  is  from  Ephesus,  not  Antioch .... 
I  purge  one  thought  thereby  and  make  repayment. 
I  am  taken  with  an  inward  shivering: 
Perhaps  I   am   cold   with   night — come   down   and 
warm  me. 

Danae  descends  and  reclines  by  Laodice. 
Haughty  and  passive  and  obedient. 
May  not  my  queen's  bosom  receive  your  head? 
When  I  worked  empery  in  Ephesus 
That  Sophron,  governor — did  he  not  love  you? 


14  Laodice  and  Danae 

Danae. 

He  said  he  did. 

Laodice. 

And  you? 

Danae. 

I  said  he  did. 
Thereon  he  made  too  sure  of  me  too  soon: 
It  is  unwise  to  let  men  be  too  sure, 
And  for  that  reason  I  hung  up  my  silks 
On  a  swart  Nabataean,  having  smeared  her 
With  my  rare  private  unguent,  and  concealed  her 
In  his  choice  corner — where  she  bit  his  lip, 
Then  let  her  laughing  teeth  take  light  of  moon. 
There  was  no  more  of  Sophron  afterward. . . . 
Although  I  looked  at  him  almost  penitently .... 

Laodice. 

No  more?    Was  there  no  more,  my  little  one? 

Danae. 

Ah,  yes ....  When  he  would  never  look  at  me 

I  felt  I  could  not  live  outside  his  arms. 

I  went  to  him  at  night  in  a  slave's  skirt, 

And  by  humiliating  actions  soothed 

His  wincing  mind,  until  he  stooped  to  me. 

I  had  him  soon.    And  then  I  tired  of  him. 

Laodice. 
And  then,  indeed,  there  was  no  more  at  all? 


Laodice  and  Danae  15 

Danae. 

I  have  not  seen  him  since.    We  left  that  city. 

You  have  my  faith.    You  know  I  am  all  yours. 
Laodice. 

That  is  quite  well.    He  has  no  years  for  you ; 

He  is  found  treasonous  and  must  be  undone. 

O,  he  goes  out Dear,  I  am  very  cold. 

Is  it  because  my  heart  is  cold?    Men  say  it. 
Danae. 

Your  heart  is  warm  to  me. 
Laodice. 

What  do  men  say? 
Danae. 

They  say  you  fled  to  Sardis  and  to  Smyrna 

Because  you  poisoned  him  at  Ephesus 

And  heard  his  feet  when  a  room  echoed. 
Laodice. 

Him? 
Danae. 

Antiochus  the  God,  your  king  and  spouse. 
Laodice. 

Why  do  they  so  consider  me  the  cause  ? 
Danae. 

You  hold  the  physician  Smerdis  in  more  favour. 
Laodice. 

And  did  I  poison  him,  my  Danae? 
Danae. 

Dear  lady,  surely. 


i6  Laodice  and  Danae 

Laodice. 

Surely It  is  sure. 

Was  I  not  made  the  Sister,  natural  wife? 

Did  he  not  change  me  for  a  daughter  of  Egypt 

Robed  with  a  satrapy,  crowned  by  an  isle? 

She  laved  her  body  daily  in  Nile  water, 

Which  can  make  fruitful  even  stones  and  virgins; 

It  soon  brought  forth  the  mud's  accustomed  spawn 

And  valuable  heir  of  all  the  lands. 

How  could  she  keep  him  ?    Needing  me  he  turned; — 

Was  it  not  best  to  die  still  needing  me. 

And  save  the  amount  of  kingdoms  for  my  boy. 

The  climbing  vine  of  gold  up  Shushan's  front, 

The  cedar  palaces  of  Ecbatana? 

Though  Berenice  sits  in  Antioch 

Safe  with  her  suckling,  in  her  suckling's  name. . . . 

Winds,  bring  to  me  a  ship  from  Antioch. 

Since  that  dread  night  when  Mysta  stept  not  down 

With  all  you  speechless  ones  to  disarray  me, 

Have  you  not  dreamed  that  I  did  poison  her? 

Her  love  is  more  than  yours,  for  she  had  crept 

To  Antioch  to  sell  herself  in  bondage 

Where  Berenice  buys,  that  she  may  nurse 

The  child  for  Berenice — and  for  me. 

While  uncle  Egypt  plucks  my  crown  for  it. 

Danae. 

Which  fingers  mixed  the  poison?    See,  I  kiss  them, 
Trust  them  ever  to  do  their  will  with  me. 
There  is  no  poison  in  a  poppy  seed ; 


Laodice  and  Danae  ly 

The  seedling  draws  its  venom  from  the  earth — 
'Tis  the  earth's  natural  need  for  such  event. 

Laodice. 

Ay,  but  the  disposition  is  in  the  seed; 
I  poison  by  a  motion  of  the  heart. 

Rhodogune,  a  Parthian  waiting-woman,  enters. 

Rhodogune. 

Madam,  the  governor  of  Ephesus 

Come  newly  from  the  harbour  to  your  will. 

Danae. 
Sophron ! 

Laodice. 

Lie  still. 

A  silence. 

Rhodogune. 

Madam,  must  I  go  down? 

Laodice. 

Bid  this  Ephesian  governor  to  me. 

Rhodogune  goes   out.      Laodice  lays  a 

hand  on  Dana'e's  heart. 
It  is  now  twilight.     Sophron  enters. 

SOPHRON. 

Queen,  am  I  swift  enough  to  your  commanding? 


i8  Laodice  and  Danae 

Laodice. 

I  am  ever  rich  in  your  discerning  service. 
Why  came  you  by  the  sea? 

She  sees  that  Sophron's  gaze  is  fixed  on 
Danae,  who  does  not  look  at  him. 

Girl,  stand  behind  me. 
Danae  obeys. 
Why  came  you  by  the  sea? 

SOPHRON. 

Lady the  sea  ? 

Laodice. 

Does  not  the  way  by  land  still  fit  mine  urgence  ? 

SoPHRON. 

Your  safety's  urgence  made  it  seem  most  good 
To  search  the  straits  for  masts  of  Ptolemy. 

Laodice. 

Ha Yes And  did  you  speak  with  any  such? 

Danae  looks  at  Sophron  and  shakes  her  head. 

SoPHRON, 

The  seas  were  void  of  alien  keels  to-night. 

Laodice. 

Are  there  Egyptians  seen  in  Ephesus? 

Sophron. 
None  since  the  aged  men  who  mummied  the  king. 

Laodice. 

Tell  me  the  common  talk  of  Egypt's  plan  ; 
And  what  device  to  handle  Ptolemy. 


Laodice  and  Danae  19 

SOPHRON. 

There's  but  a  common  fear  of  Egypt's  secret. 
We  cannot  meet  him  yet  unless  the  cities, 
Yea  all  these  cities  of  men,  take  hands  with  us. 

Laodice. 

Must  I  keep  house  in  Smyrna  still,  my  man? 
Play  queen  in  a  corner  harmlessly? 

SOPHRON. 

Madam, 
The  coast  is  safer  here  than  Ephesus, 
Retreat  on  Sardis  safer  and  more  ready. 

Xaodice. 

I  more  withdrawn  apart  from  my  main  kingdom, 
Baffled  from  drainage  of  the  unended  East. 
I  have  required  you  here  because  a  word. 
Perhaps  a  word  malicious,  has  crept  here: 
It  has  been  said  that  some  Ephesian  men 
Have  bartered  for  my  town  with  Ptolemy — 
Do  you  know  any  of  these?    Do  they  live? 

SoPHRON. 

There  are  none  known :  such  could  not  sell  past  me. 

Laodice. 
They  use  my  palace :  examine  those  about  you. 

SOPHRON. 

There  is  no  need :  I  know  them  to  be  clean. 

Danae  again  shakes  her  head,  but  more  eagerly. 


20  Laodice  and  Danae 

Laodice,  turning  her  head  and  looking  up  at  Danae 
suddenly. 

Why  do  you  tremble,  girl  ?  There's  nought  to  fear. 
As  she  begins  to  speak  Danae' s  hair  is  shaken 
loose;  a  rose  falls  from  it  and  breaks  on 
Laodice's  shoulder.  Laodice  laughs  and  plays 
with  the  petals,  continuing  without  pause. 

Do  you  drop  me  a  sleepy  kiss,  maiden,  my  rare  one  ? 

But  O,  you  have  so  tumbled  your  hair  to  cull  it — 

Come  hither,  kneel  and  I  will  bind  it  up. 

Danae,  obeying. 

Lady,  I  coiled  it  carelessly Indeed 

Such  ministration  is  my  precious  pardon. 

Laodice. 

.Silk,  silky  silk  so  delicious  to  finger. . . . 

Rose  I  held;    ruby-glows;   then   dark  hair   in   my 

hands 

Nay,  I  am  hot ;  I  bum ;  stay  there  and  fan  me 

Dear,  do  not  cease  at  all. 
To  Sophron. 

Well,  my  captain? 

Sophron. 
You  shall  have  men's  minds  searched  in  Ephesus. 

Laodice. 

I  like  your  mind.    Also,  I  have  considered 
You  must  shut  up  your  port,  let  out  no  ship ; 
Then  Ptolemy  shall  be  more  sure  each  night 
That  he  has  wiped  the  seas till  you  slip  out. 


Laodice  and  Danae  21 

SoPHRON,  in  stupefaction. 
Slip ....  out  ? 

Laodice. 

Ay,  Sophron,  fall  on  him. 

SoPHRON,  eagerly. 

Yes,  yes : 
These  things  shall  be,  and  you  shall  not  complain. 

Laodice. 

Nay,  go  not  now ;  be  my  great  guest  this  night. 
The  tide  will  take  you  not  until  more  day, 
And  in  the  dawn,  white  hour  of  clearest  thought,. 
I  need  more  counsel  from  you  for  my  deeds. 

She  clasps  her  hands:  Bar  sine,  a  Persian,  enters. 
Let  this  strong  captain  be  well    feasted  now 
In  winy  webs  of  my  embroidering — 
Or — no — a  purple  suits  his  temper  best ; 
And  send  a  slave  to  him  for  him  to  rule. 

SoPHRON. 

Graciousness,  yours :  let  me  but  stay  my  seamen. 

Laodice. 

Haretas  the  Pisidian  shall  go  down 

Into  the  place  of  ships,  but  not  my  guest : 

Entrust  your  ring  to  this,  and  she  will  bear  it. 

Barsine  and  Sophron  go  out.    Laodice  nods  to  herself. 
1  saw  his  ring:  it  was  a  new  green  scarab. 
Danae  ceases  fan7iing  without  Laodice  heeding. 


22  Laodice  and  Danae 

Rhodogune,  outside. 

She-dog,  come  back  and  you  shall  have  but  whips. 
A  dirty  woman  runs  in,  hearing  a  bundle  with- 
in her  ragged  robe;  Rhodogune  follows  her. 
Laodice,  slowly. 

I  have  not  need  of  rinds  and  lees  to-night ; 
Come,  take  these  out  and  burn  them. 

The  Woman. 

Ay,  come. 

Laodice,  starting  up. 

Mysta,  Mysta,  my  joy!    What  have  you  there? 

The  thing  a  mother  called  Antiochus? 

To  Rhodogune. 

Do  you  not  know  your  fellow  and  my  hand  ? 

Rhodogune  retires. 

Mysta. 

I  was  the  handmaid  of  a  displaced  queen ; 
I  am  dry  nurse  to  the  undoubted  queen, 
Come  back  merely  to  boast  and  make  display 
How  lusty  a  baby  grows  in  careful  hands, 
How  noble  I  to  carry  a  living  king. 

Laodice,  leaping  to  her. 

Unwind,  dishevel,  give  it  up  to  me. 

Clapping  her  hands. 
Let  there  be  lights  above :  I  must  see  closely. 
If  I  embrace  you  I  shall  touch  it  too. 


Laodice  and  Danae  23 

A  woman  hangs  a  lamp  from  long  chains  over 
the  gallery  on  the  left,  then  withdraws.  After 
a  moment  she  passes  along  the  colonnade 
from  left  to  right  and  disappears.  A  moment 
later  she  leans  from  the  lattice  windows  on 
the  right  to  light  two  lamps  suspended  from 
the  roof  to  a  point  immediately  below  her. 
The  lights  are  such  that,  when  the  twilight 
has  gone,  the  figures  of  the  persons  are  more 
definite  than  their  features,  and  the  upper 
part  of  the  chamber  is  almost  unlit.  In  the 
meantime 

Mysta. 

Nay,  we  are  but  harbour-drift  from  Antioch : 
Come,  take  us  out  and  burn  us. 

Laodice. 

Aha,  Mysta. 

Mysta. 

Touch  not  my  hair ;  'tis  foul  from  many  ships. 

Laodice. 

I  have  ached  by  watching  ships  that  were  not  yours. 
Were  you  in  Sophron's  vessel?    Did  he  know? 

Mysta. 

She  did  not  trust  me  soon  to  tend  her  child, 
Returning  oft  like  the  uneasy  cat  .... 
When  I  have  slipt  these  rags  on  it  and  me 
I  herded  with  night-women  by  the  shore. 
Ere  there,  I  past  a  rift  in  palaces, 


24  Laodice  and  Danae 

Moment  of  empty  street  and  Berenice 
Marching  with  hunger  in  her  bright  fixed  eyes, 
Champing  her  golden  chain — one  hand  on  it 
Tugged  her  mouth  downward — one  hand  smote  a 

spear 
Upon  the  stones  as  she  stepped  on  and  on 
Toward  the  house  of  Caeneus  your  known  friend. 
They  spied  the  harbour;  I  must  leave  by  land; 
Then  was  some  tale  of  fishers,  trading  sloops : 
Sophron  knows  not  the  thief  like  a  fierce  mother 
Whose  hard  feet  last  left  ship  at  Ephesus — 
Where  Ptolemy  is  looked  for  eagerly. 

As  she  speaks,  Laodice  has  drawn  a  scarf  from 
her  shoulders,  twisted  it  and  strained  it  in  her 
hands;  it  tears  and  she  throws  it  down. 

Mysta  holds  out  the  child  to  her. 
Twas  warm  and  quiet  so  long.    Let  it  live. 

Laodice,  taking  the  child  and  scanning  it. 
Let  me  read  here: 

This  is  the  mould,  wrongly  retouched  and  spent — 
It  is  his  child  and  yet  I  have  not  known  it ... . 

Clasping  it  closely  to  her. 
I  am  the  changeless  mother  of  this  race, 
And  this  a  younger  seed.    By  the  opened  womb 
I  have  decided  being:  and  I  decide. 
Much  Asia  has  been  spanned  to  leave  it  here, 
More  Asia  will  be  narrowed  by  her  searchers ; 
Mysta  might  die  next  time.    It  must  die. 
I  reached  my  hand  and  took  it  to  make  sure 


Laodice  and  Danae  25 

My  order  and  number  of  children  still  were  true. 
I  have  looked  on  it — its  purport  is  completed. 

Mysta. 

It  could  be  hid  for  ever :  let  it  live. 

Laodice. 

Mysta  shall  need  my  ritual  bath  and  wardrobe  ; 
Serve  me  by  delicate  sleep.    Mysta  must  go. 
She  kisses  Mysta  and  leads  her   to   the  portal. 
Mysta  goes  out  passively. 

Laodice. 

Danae,  pile  me  cushions  and  hollow  them — 
There  in  the  shallowed  seat  beyond  the  breeze. 
No ;  larger  cushions  with  no  rough  gold  in  stitchings. 
One  softer  for  his  head — now  hold  it  there 
Till  I  can  kneel  and  lay  him  in  the  dimmest, 
For  he  may  sleep  a  little  yet.    Ay,  so ... . 
I  had  well  nigh  forgotten  to  appoint 
Sophron  a  chamber. 

Danae. 

Madam,  I  will  go. 

Laodice. 

You  speak  too  loudly.    Madam,  you  will  remain : 

I  need  you  to  cast  gums  upon  the  censer 

And  make  me  drowsy — I  must  sleep  some  moments. 

Danae. 

Storax  alone,  or  juniper? 


26  Laodice  and  Danae 

Laodice. 

O,  storax. 
Danae  goes  to  a  recess  in  the  wall  near  the  portal, 
and  takes  out  a  painted  bowl.     She  pours  grains 
from  it   slowly   upon   the    brazier;  brief   cloudy 
flames  illumine  her  face. 
Did  the  Silk- People  shape  that  bowl? 

Danae. 

Maybe 

I  could  burn  up  the  world  like  this  to-night, 
To  make  an  end  of  conflicts  and  of  burdens. 

As  Laodice  claps  her  hands  Barsine  hurries  in 
breathlessly. 

Barsine. 

Queen,  Queen 

Laodice,  watching  Danae. 

Make  ready  fragrantly  and  freshly 
Chamber  for  Sophron  next  to  that  of  Smerdis. 
Then  send  Smerdis  with  knives  and  drugs  to  me. 
Danae  opens  her   mouth   as  if   to   speak — the 
flames  fall   as  she   holds   the   bowl   poised 
motionlessly. 

Barsine. 

Sophron — none  can  find  him;  he  has  gone. 

Danae  lets  the  contents  of  the  bowl  slide  into 
the  brazier;  a  shaft  of  flame  flares  high,  she 
averts  her  face. 


Laodice  and  Danae  27 

Laodice. 
Ho,  we  are  dropping  roses  all  the  time? 
Men ;  bring  me  men  and  torches  and  sharp  spears — 
A  boat  to  cut  the  Centaur's  rudder-ropes — 

I  will  go  down  and  take  him  back Hui 

She  sweeps  out  followed  by  Barsine. 

Danae. 

O,  Sophron,  out  by  the  land !  Nay,  he  knows  more — 
And   she,  and   she ....     Watch-towers   divide   this 

earth, 
Horses  go  here ....     And  he  may  save  a  ship. 

She  draws  aside  the  curtain  to  look  beyond. 

Go,  go,  my  queen,  for  women's  skirts  impede  you. 

She  ascends  swiftly  to  the  colonnade:  a  starry 

night  shows  her  form  dimly. 

Fishers'  small  lights,  be  drenched — ^you  show  too 

much 
At  height  of  settling  gulls  above  the  water.  . . . 

Ah h,    nothing,    nothing.      Something   will   not 

happen, 
And  let  this  life  go  on  again.    Nothing. 
Yet ....  yet ...  .  the  air  is  beating  on  my  temples 
As  though  a  rabble  murmured  beyond  hearing. 
Rhodogune  enters. 

Rhodogune. 
Danae,  are  you  here? 

Danae. 

I  am  here. 


28  Laodice  and  Danae 

Rhodogune. 

Where  is  the  queen? 

Danae. 

Nearing  the  shore  by  now. 
Rhodogune. 

I  have  a  drunken  woman  with  nine  snakes 
That  follow  her  as  freshets  a  drowned  body, 
Then  lift  wise  sibilant  heads  in  guardian  swaying; 
Her  lair  could  well  be  traced  by  emptied  streets. 
She  is  too  drunk  to  speak,  but  sings  the  better 
A  praise  of  poisonous  snakes  and  the  fools  of  wine, 
While  in  the  night  they  circle  and  streak  for  answer 
Like  wineish  lines  of  light,  black  rubies*  gleams. 
Shall  I  not  bring  her  for  the  queen  to  use. 
Who  loves  delights  like  dangers  come  too  near? 

Danae. 

Put  her  away  in  a  safe  place  till  morning — 

The  queen  is  smouldering  again  to-night. 

And,  if  she  sees  your  epileptic  mummer. 

Will  make  us  tie  her  up  with  her  own  serpents . . . . 

Babble  no  more  to  me — I  must  be  watching. 

Rhodogune. 

You  are  not  the  queen,  although  the  queen's  play- 
thing; 
Deign  not  your  sweet  commandments  unto  us. 

She  goes  out. 

Danae. 

Sophron,  your  bare  grand  neck's  a  tawny  pillar 


Laodice  and  Danae  29 

To  lean  a  cheek  against  in  burning  noons; 
Your  careless  eyes  look  deeplier  than  you  know; 
You  must  be  kept  in  Hfe.  . .  .     Down  there,  down 

there 
Is  something  darker,  swifter  than  the  sea.  . . . 
An  unseen  smoky  glare  is  mirrored  now. . . . 
That  was  his  boat :  he  is  gone . . .  Sophron,  Sophron  I 
The  sea  is  suddenly  empty — and  all  places. 
I  have  given  him  to  mine  enemies.     She'll  not  kill 

him. 
Now  I  must  waken  and  repent  my  dreams : 
Ay,  Sophron,  get  you  gone — I  am  whole  again ; 
I  am  the  queen's — and  O,  farewell,  farewell. 

She  descends  the  stair  slowly. 
I  am  the  queen's  indeed.    Is  she  yet  mine. 
Ditizele — 
A  Voice,  from  within  the  cedar  lattice. 
Who  is  it  calls  me? 

Danae. 

Danae. 

The  Voice. 

Yes? 

Danae. 

The  queen  has  spoilt  my  rose — throw  me  a  young 
one. 

A  rosebud  falls  from  the  lattice:  Danae  sets  it 
in  her  hair. 

Thanks,  dear She  has  put  up  my  hair  awry — 

It  will  remind  her  she  put  up  my  hair. 


30  Laodice  and  Danae 

She  shakes  down  her  hair  and  knots  it  again, 
holding  the  rose-stalk  in  her  mouth  until  she 
can  replace  it. 
These  Asiatic  nights  ruin  the  hair, 
Their  humid  heat  puts  out  its  inner  lights  — 
Mine  waves  with  gleams  no  more  than  names  of 

Iran 

Now  she  has  left  the  shore — Now  she  will  set 

Her  feet  upon  the  stairs  like  setting  of  teeth 

The  child  cries  a  little  once:  Danae  goes  to  it. 
O,  baby,  the  old  silence  of  palaces 
Is  settling  on  you  steadily.    Your  crying 
Is  shut  within — and  shall  be  farther  enclosed. 
One  light  small  cry  shows  all  so  much  too  quiet. 
Laodice,  who  has  entered  noiselessly  and  comes  he- 
hind  Danae. 
Ay,  do  you  consort  with  mine  enemies? 
Danae,  wailing. 
Ah ...  .  Ah ....  I  sickened  with  the  secret  thing. 
The  too  faint  sound  that  crept  about  my  neck. 

Laodice,  slipping  an  arm  about  her. 
Nay,  Rose-Locks,  calm  thy  heart ;  I  did  but  tease 
Thy    mothering   this    lost    child,    king's    waif    and 

surplus. 
Rare  nurses  his:  the  next  will  be  the  last: 
Some  treachery  will  ever  draw  toward  him. 
Rest  you  again  upon  the  Persian  couch. 
And  I  will  sit  with  you  and  comfort  you. 

Leading  her  to  the  divan. 


Laodice  and  Danae  31 

Do  not  forget  the  cherishing  of  a  queen : 

I  could  not  catch  your  Sophron  for  you,  child. 

Danae. 

I  was  not  seeking  him :  he  is  better  gone. 

Laodice. 

Yet  such  delight  to  lead  him  to  your  arms : 
You  said  you  looked  at  him  almost  penitently. 

Danae. 

Madam,  you  mock  me ;  I  have  passed  from  him. 

Laodice. 

Yes,  yes ;  but  rapture  for  your  mind  severe 
Lies  in  the  nearness  of  wise  and  powerful  men. 
As  once  for  famous  high  Leontion, 
That  philosophic  courtesan  your  mother. 
Let  be;  but  tell  me  of  his  quietest  scheme. 

Danae. 

I  know  him  not :  I  never  knew  his  mind. 

Several  women  appear   dimly   at   the   latticed 
windows  and  the  gallery. 

Laodice. 
Ah,  well ....  I  am  tired,  and  it  is  your  dear  turn 
To  open  your  arms.    Hold  me  and  I  will  nestle, 
Will  murmur  for  you  to  hear  along  your  neck. 
What  shall  we  do  to-morrow,  Danae  ? 

Danae. 

Fair  mistress,  I  can  dance  for  you  to-morrow. 

Laodice. 
Yes,  but  my  dainty  cannot  dance  all  day — 
She  must  have  long,  long  quiet  for  her  thoughts. 


32  Laodice  and  Danae 

Danae. 

Then  shall  I  wing  the  bright  and  silken  birds 
About  the  border  of  your  Persian  mantle? 

Laodice. 

How  should  I  do  without  you  so  many  hours? 
Danae. 

Your  Parthian  has  a  witch  of  snakes  for  you — 

Laodice. 

I  can  charm  snakes  and  even  pith  their  fangs. 

Danae. 

This  is  a  rare  one  and,  if  she  is  drunken, 
Does  uncouth  things  delicious  to  the  senses. 
Steep  in  her  wine  the  herb  that  makes  insane — 

Laodice. 

The  herb....? 

Danae. 

The  viscous  plant  that  grows  i'  your  chamber- 
Strange  longer  serpents  shall  be  swiftly  snared 
And  mixt  untamed  with  hers,  for  you  to  read 
Her  gaping  and  ridiculous  tragedy 
As  the  cold  perils  sober  her  to  pallor. 

Laodice. 

It  is  not  novel With  a  secret  call 

I  have  turned  snakes  upon  such  things  before. 
I  am  learned  and  I  need  some  graver  pang — 
Something  as  unsuspected  as  to  tell  you 
That  I  had  poisoned  you  three  hours  ago. 
And  see  you  disbelieve — ^begin  to  believe. 


Laodice  and  Danae  33 

Danae. 

But  you  did  not. 

Laodice. 

There  is  the  disbelief 

A  pause. 
If  I  had  done  so  I  should  here  avouch 
I  could  not  do  it — then  await  a  sign. 

Danae. 

Ah,  I  am  yours . . .    You  have  not  doomed  me  yet. 
Queen  with  the  wells  of  night  for  human  eyes, 
Let  us  descend  upon  the  sea  to-morrow, 
Rule  your  own  kingdom  by  your  cedarn  barge : 
We  will  recline  together,  hushed  as  here 
Save  for  the  waters'  converse  just  beneath 
Permeant  as  my  pulse  veiled  by  your  cheek. 

Laodice. 

I  am  uneasy  now  and  should  disturb  you — 
And  thence  your  restlessness  would  chafe  me  more 
I  must  make  sure  that  you  will  lie  quite  still : 
May  I  so  still  you  ?    Then  you  shall  to  sea. 
We'll  sail  about  the  limit  of  the  lands 
Until  you  reach  the  river  of  Babylon. 

Danae. 

So  much  in  one  rapt  day  ? 

The  days  of  life  can  never  compass  that. 

Laodice. 

Not  in  a  day,  but  in  a  day  and  night : 
Conceive  the  night,  my  Danae,  the  night — 


34  Laodice  and  Danae 

It  is  the  natural  state  of  being  and  space. 

Briefly  interrupted  by  casual  suns. 

Much  unknown  empires  are  attained  in  night — 

Perhaps  not  Babylon,  yet  far  enough. 

One  night  can  be  a  very  proper  length. 

Danae. 

You  mean  that  I  am  poisoned  after  all. 

Laodice. 

Indeed,  my  Danae,  it  is  not  so. 
In  this  barbaric  land,  this  bright  harsh  dye-pot, 
Peopled  by  camels  and  cynocephali 
And  hairy  men  of  soiled  uncertain  hue, 
O,  do  you  not  remember  nights  of  Athens 
Built  well  about  with  marbles  and  clear  skies. 
Wherein  your  mother  and  such  noble  women 
Conversed  with  poets  and  heroes  in  lit  groves, 
And  life  sub  tied?    Have  you  not  longed  for  themi* 
I  am  sending  you  to  such  a  farther  country. 
Away  from  this  shrunk  mummy  of  live  earth. 

Danae. 

Madam,  I  know  you  not — when  must  I  leave  you  ? 

Laodice,  clapping  her  hands. 

It  is  the  hour,  and  you  shall  launch  to-night. 
Women,  women,  come  hither  every  woman. 

The  faces  disappear  from  the  upper  windows: 
eleven  women  appear  on  the  colonnade,  some 
from  each  side,  and  descend  the  stair  rapidly. 
Get  on  your  knees  about  us — ^both  knees. 


Laodice  and  Danae  35 

Stand  up,  my  Danae,  be  overbearing. 

Women,  when  any  woman  has  a  kingdom 

And  is  a  regnant  being,  does  it  not  suit 

That  in  the  disposition  of  her  state 

Women  should  figure  her  and  power  afar? 

This  kingdom  I  control  has  thrones  of  cities, 

So  many  that  I,  when  I  would  sit  therein, 

Must  cast  my  shadows  there :  and  chief  of  these 

Is  Babylon  the  nest  of  bygone  things. 

Tis  to  that  Babylon  I  now  appoint 

My  bosom's  clasp,  my  Danae,  for  satrap ; 

She  shall  oppress  among  dead  queens  and  gods, 

Keep  house  where  sheer  dominion  walks,  command 

Enamelled  palaces  with  copper  roofs. 

Pillars  with  gardens  for  their  pediments — 

Staircase  for  Anakim  in  Babylon. 

And  when  ye  are  as  dear  to  me  as  she 

Ye  shall  advance  upon  such  larger  ways. 

Danae. 

O,  what  is  this  you  do  ?    I  am  lost  in  it. 

A  Woman. 

But  how  ?    The  duplicate  queen  holds  Babylon. 

Laodice. 
It  shall  be  mine  again  ere  Danae's  advent.  .  .  . 
Danae,  sister  of  pearls,  do  I  displease  you? 

Danae. 

Tell  out  your  purpose,  though  I  wreck  by  it. 


36  Laodice  and  Danae 

Laodice. 
Could  higher  estate  persuade  such  disbelief? 
Barsine,  now  disburden  of  its  store 
The  old  brass  coffer  of  my  inner  house — 
The  gems,  the  flower-striped  silks,  the  mousselines 
Worn  by  such  royal  girls  of  Babylon ; 
So  rare  a  satrap  as  we  do  devise 
Must  be  as  Babylonish  as  her  earth. 

Barsine  goes  out. 
Put  out  your  hand,  young  princess,  dip  your  hand 
Among  these  herded  common  indiscretions. 
And  gratefully  they'll  mouth  it.    Nay,  I'll  lead  you. 

Second  Woman. 

Madam,  remember  me  when  you  are  miglity. 

Third  Woman. 
And,  O,  forget  not  me. 

Laodice. 
Arise  you  humbled  ones,  jealous  too  long; 
Take  off  her  Greekish  marks  of  my  poor  service, 
Make  ready  her  precious  body  to  be  tangled 
In  clotted  skeins  of  her  affiliate  province. 

The  women  strip  Danae  of  all  but  her  under-robe. 

0  friend,  I  do  reproach  you,  for  your  gay  heart 
Has  surely  turned  from  me  too  easily 

AVhen  something  in  you  fades  and  alters  so ...  . 

1  have  done  this — my  cherished,  still  keep  mine 

Barsine  enters,  her  arms  heaped  with  robes. 
These  be  your  pretties.     Greeks  know  not  to  use 
Layers  of  denial — ^you  Persian,  can  you  say? 


Laodice  and  Danae  37 

Barsine. 
These  silken  trousers  tied  above  the  knees, 
Yet  falling  to  the  feet,  are  first. 

Laodice. 

Ay,  so. 

Barsine. 
And  now  this  inner  gown  shrinks  close. 

Laodice. 

Ay,  so. 

Barsine. 
Then  this  brocady  robe  with  fan-flung  train 
And  widening  muffling  sleeves. 

Laodice. 

Can  it  be  so? 
Pure  Greeks  conceive  not  slavery  of  sleeves. 

Barsine. 
The  pointed  citron  shoes. 

Laodice. 

Not  even  sandals  ? 

Barsine. 
There  needs  a  shawl  like  gardens  for  a  girdle, 
But  none  was  hoarded. 

Laodice. 

Put  your  own  on  her. 
Give  me  the  jewels :  I  v/ish  to  play  with  the  jewels. 


38  Laodice  and  Danae 

Barsine. 

In  the  horn  sphere :  press  on  the  metal  hands. 
The  strings  of  golden  tears  and  yellow  stones 
Hang  hidy  in  the  hair.    I  will  unbind 
Your  lady's  locks  and  shew  you. 

Laodice. 

Keep  off:  I  must  unloose  them, 
It  is  my  custom. 

Danae,  in  a  low  voice. 

O,  what  are  you  doing? 

Barsine. 
Round  to   the   temples,   so:   this   drops   upon   the 

brow  .... 
That  breast  of  gold — ^pierced  roses,  diamond  dew — 
Curves  on  the  head,  no  heavier  than  your  hand .... 
Coils  chime  upon  the  ankles — the  East  walks  slowly. 

Laodice. 
We  come  to  the  necklace. 

Barsine. 

Yes,  but  it  is  lacking. 

Laodice,  to  the  Second  Woman. 
You  white- faced  marvel,  body  of  straight  lines, 
Give  me  your  necklace  dropt  inside  your  chiton. 

Second  Woman. 
O,  do  you  see  it?     I  cannot  let  it  go — 
It  was  my  sister's,  and  she  is  dead  since  .  .  .  • 
Ah  .  .h  .  .  . 


Laodice  and  Danae  39 

Laodice. 

'Tis  well  for  you  it  did  not  strangle  you 
When  caught.     But  ye  are  all  so  envious  yet. 
There,  Danae,  my  hands  shall  finish  you. 
A  painted  wonder  this  I  have  created — 
I  am  no  better  than  the  rest  before  it, 
And  I  will  do  my  homage,  knees  and  lips. 

Danae,  faintly. 
What  is  the  end,  ah  me ! 

Laodice. 

But  in  true  Asia 
Great  ladies  must  live  veiled ;  they  are  too  choice 
For  foreign  casual  sight. 

Barsine. 

This  is  the  veil. 

Laodice. 

Bound  so  beneath  the  eyes?     Show  slipper-tips? 
Indeed  you  are  ended,  Danae,  and  shall  part. 
Farewell !  Farewell !  Fare  delicately !  Fare  swiftly ! 
Will  you  go  down  by  Ephesus,  my  rose ; 
Or  all  the  sea? 

First  Woman. 

Not  Babylon  by  sea ! 

Laodice. 

If  not  to  Babylon,  yet  far  enough. 

Tie  up  these  arms  and  bind  these  feet  together ; 

Bear  to  the  columns  and  cast  her  forth  to  sea, 


40  Laodice  and  Danae 

Where  she  shall  be  my  satrap  of  the  darkness. 
She  has  been  dying  many  moments  now, 
She  shall  have  burial  as  one  who  ceases 
In  a  strange  ship,  unfriended  on  the  deeps. 
The  women  laugh. 

First  Woman. 

Joy — ^but  wherewith,  O  Light? 

Laodice. 

Your  sandal-thongs : 
You  are  good  enough  to  obey  me  on  bare  feet. 

Several  of  the  women  hastily  untie  their  sandals. 

Fourth  Woman,  kneeling  to  bind  Danae's  feet. 
Forget  not  me  to  heel,  my  mighty  lady. 

Various  Women,  clustering  about  Danae  and  seizing 
her. 
Come  on,  come  on  to  Babylon,  dread  Madam  .... 

Up  and  down  to  Babylon,  cold  Highness 

I'll  be  her  coiffing  slave  and  tend  her  head 

1*11  be  her  nurse  and  hold  her  in  my  breast  .... 
More  humbly  I  will  take  her  feet  in  mine  .... 
What  honour  to  be  trusted  with  such  life — 
A  priceless  load  .  .  .  .Ah,  do  not  let  it  fall  .... 

Danae,  to  Laodice. 

Yet  I  have  served  you  well. 

Laodice. 

Yea,  very  well. 
Whereto  did  Sophron  flee? 


Laodice  and  Danae  41 

Danae. 

I  do  not  know. 

Laodice. 
Tell  me  why  Sophron  fled,  and  what  he  knew. 

A  pause. 
Tell  even  where  your  thoughts  are  following  him. 

A  pause. 
Even  at  what  point  of  my  research  in  him 
Your  heart  lifted,  and  I  will  keep  you  back. 

A  pause. 
Then  are  you  both  completed  and  concluded. 
Knot  elbows  too,  and  lift  her  to  the  columns. 

Danae. 
Yet  I  have  loved  you. 

Laodice. 
You  are  not  mine :  this  earth  shall  not  contain  you. 
I  could  unmake  the  stars  to  ensure  darkness 
To  cheat  me  of  the  places  that  have  known  you. 

Danae. 

Must  I  go  out? 

Then  pay  me  for  my  spent  devotion  first. 

Let  not  these  spittly  weeds  close  in  and  choke  me : 

Undrape  these  silks  and  Asiatic  jeers, 

Let  me  go  loose,  and  I  will  go  indeed 

As  far  as  your  desire — serving  you  yet. 

Laodice,  severing  Danae' s  bonds  with  her  dagger,  then 
rending  away  her  veil  and  upper  garments. 
Your  rigid  mortal  bonds,  .... 


42  Laodice  and  Danae 

Your  isolating  veil,  .... 
Your  scarf  of  earthly  flowers,  .... 
Your  robe  that  once  was  royal,  .... 
Your  chill,  worn-out  simarre, 
Slide  as  the  world  slides  .... 
Put  off  your  useless  shoes 

To  enter  a  holy  place 

Get  to  your  high  estate. 

Danae,  standing  in  her  under-garment. 
Gather  your  jewels. 

Laodice. 

You  trifle  to  gain  moments. 

Danae. 

Give  me  one  kiss. 

Laodice. 

You  have  not  time. 
Indicating  the  surrounding  women. 

These  wait. 

Danae. 

Your  house  shall  be  the  firmer  by  your  sentence. 
She  takes  the  sleeping  child  in  her  arms,  and 
mounts  the  stairs  quickly. 

Several  Women. 
The  child,  she  has  the  child. 

Laodice. 

Yes.    And  then? 


Laodice  and  Danae  43 

Danae,  pausing  by  a  column. 
The  common  run  of  men  make  small  account 
Of  high  religion:  they  are  very  right. 
I  saved  the  man  my  lover  and  receive 
This  recognition  from  the  Powers  who  still 
Dispose  of  us.     Laodice  killed  hers, 
And  she  is  held  deserving  of  all  that  honour. 

Laodice,  pointing  at  the  Fourth  Woman. 
Thrust  her  down,  you. 

Danae  disappears  while  the  Fourth  Woman 
stealthily  mounts  the  stair.  Laodice  has 
thrown  herself  on  the  divan,  with  her  back  to 
the  colonnade. 

To-morrow  will  be  soon. 
To-morrow  I  will  sit  with  men  in  council, 
And  muster  men  to  leaguer  Ephesus. 
These  fretting  hens,  these  women,  burden  me — 
I  know  their  eyes  too  well ;  let  them  keep  hid. 
To-morrow  I  will  walk  upon  the  harbour 
And  board  my  ships  and  see  them  manned  and 

ready — 
No,  no,  I  will  not  step  towards  the  sea  .... 

Several  Women,  as  Laodice  speaks. 

Ai!  Ai!    Is  she  down?     Not  yet.  .  .  . 
I  cannot  see.  .  .  .      No  one  can  see. 

Second  Woman,  sobbing  in  the  corner  near  the  stair. 

My  necklace! 
Save  my  dear  gems ! 


44  Laodice  and  Danae 

Fourth  Woman,  from  the  colonnade. 

She  is  not  here.    She  falls. 

Laodice. 

Is  that  hoarse  dashing  how  the  surge  receives  her? 
Fourth  Woman 

It  is  the  old  recession  of  the  waves ; 

The  rocks  are  bare.     No  movement  could  be  seen ; 

No  pallor  could  emerge.     There  is  no  sound. 
Laodice,  in  a  dull  voice. 

She  has  a  lulling  hand  ....  Put  me  to  sleep  .... 
Curtain. 


''And,  0,  perchance  it  is  the  fairest  lot 

At  once  to  he  a  queen  and  he  forgot; 

For  queens  are  oft  remembered  by  the  weighed 

Wild  dusky  peacock- flashing  sins  they  played, 

But  queens  clean-hearted  leave  us  and  grow  less, 

Lost  in  the  common  light  of  righteousness/' 

From  KING  RENE'S  HONEYMOON :  a  Masque, 

Scene  VII. 


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